


My Life's Been Getting So Strange!

by undying_young



Category: Andi Mack (TV), Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Harold they're gay, M/M, this is gonna be fun, this is super self indulgent like this is my dream to write this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undying_young/pseuds/undying_young
Summary: All of Stranger Things 2 except with Andi Mack characters and exponentially more gay





	1. SLAYER

**Author's Note:**

> song rec: Whip It by DEVO

"Son of a bitch. Son of a _bitch!_ ”  
  
  
  
Everything in the Beck household leading up to this very loud exclamation of swears was going very gravely wrong. Jonah nearly sprinted through the hall and into the TV room, flipping over sofa cushions. His mother was sitting in a recliner, holding the family's overweight tabby, Tangerine--whom his mother treated as one of her own children--watching a commercial for some hair product that promised to make you look like Brooke Shields.  
  
  
  
Jonah rifled through the nooks and crannies of the sofa cushions before he finally discovered a coin. The boy's heart lifted… then plummeted back into the pit of her stomach when he realized it was only a stupid, _useless_ penny. Jonah released an aggravated sigh, and chucked the coin across the room. Tangerine growled. Jonah wondered if it would be considered crude to flip off an animal.  
  
  
  
“ _Jo-nie_ ,” his mother whined, “you almost hit Tangerine.”  
  
  
  
Jonah turned around, his mind still on high alert. “Can I check under your cushions?”  
  
  
  
_“Jo-nie!”_  
  
  
  
“Mom, come on! It's a matter of life and death!”  
  
  
  
His mother groaned, and reluctantly stood, rocking the cat in her arms like it was an infant. “Well, let me go ahead and get up before you say something _really_ dramatic.”  
  
  
  
Jonah ignored the comment, and nearly threw the cushion across the room in his haste. His mother shushed the still-growling cat, and scowled at him. “Watch it!”  
  
  
  
He wasn't listening, though, because sure enough, he'd found two more quarters. The boy smiled to himself, and bolted back to his bedroom. “Thanks, Mom, love you lots!”  
  


  
.

  
  
  
  
Jonah grabbed his walkie-talkie from his ever-cluttered dresser, and turned it on. Feedback sounded as he flopped onto his unmade bed, and he hurriedly changed the channel.  
  
  
  
“Marty, do you copy?" he called into the mic. "I found a dollar, what about you?”  
  
  
  
Jonah released the button, tentatively awaiting a response. It didn't take long before he heard a static-y scoff from the other end.  
  
  
  
_“Take that pathetic excuse of a haul, and multiply it by five.”_  
  
  
  
Jonah made a face. “How the hell did you swing that?”  
  
  
  
_“Helped Mrs. Delaney do some gardening,"_ Marty's smug voice crackled. _"Old people really love to spend money.”_  
  
  
  
Jonah propped himself up on his elbows. “You never told me Mrs. Delaney was holding onto that kind of cheddar!”  
  
  
  
_“Well, now you know. Just go on and call everyone else, alright?”_  
  
  
  
“Why do I have to?”  
  
  
  
_“Because_ I've _gotta shower. Happens when you do_ real _work. Over and out.”_  
  


  
+  
  


  
Amber, sitting underneath the rickety old table she'd donned as a fort since before she could remember, waited. All he heard was feedback over that dumb walkie-talkie. All she ever heard was feedback. Sometimes she wondered why she still bothered. She never answered. It was like Amber was talking to herself. It was like she was crazy person, trying something again and again, when she knew good and well how it would turn out.  
  
  
  
Amber nearly jumped out of her skin when Jonah's voice blared out of the speaker.  
  
  
  
_“Amber, do you copy? Amber?”_  
  
  
  
Amber let go of the hope that today would be the day she'd hear the voice she'd been waiting for, and reluctantly answered. “Yeah, I copy.”  
  
  
  
_“What the hell are doing on this channel?”_  
  
  
  
Amber tried to steady her voice. “Nothing. Who cares?”  
  
  
  
_“Not me,”_ Jonah’s voice crackled. _“What's your haul?”_  
  
  
  
“Five bucks,” she replied, smiling a little as she remembered that at least one good thing happened to her as of late. “You can only make so much from raking Mrs. Delaney’s yard, huh?”

 

 _“Wh--”_ There was a tense pause. Somethings sounded like it was being thrown. _“When the hell did Mrs. Delaney start handing out money to everyone?!”_

 

Amber knit her eyebrows. “What?”

 

There was a sigh, and Amber could almost see Jonah trying to compose himself. _“Forget it. I’ll call the guys. Over and out.”_

 

 

+

  
  
  
  
TJ wouldn’t figure himself very forgetful, but one thing he almost always forgot was his arcade haul. One would think that their arcade tradition would warrant him to remember to build up his haul at least sometimes, but nope. He literally always forgot, and he wondered how he still managed to surprise himself when Arcade Night rolled around, and he hadn’t gathered his money.

 

So now, here he was: rifling through his brother's dresser, hoping to find any sort of loose change, or better yet--  
  
  
  
"Bingo," he murmured to himself.

TJ's eyes had landed on his older brother's piggy bank that was still hidden in his second dresser drawer after all those years. TJ took it, wasted no time in dumping the contents out onto his brother's bed, and grabbed quarters by the handful.  
  
  
  
“What the hell are you doing?!” someone shouted. TJ turned to see Bowie standing in the doorway, fuming. TJ smiled weakly, still stuffing the coins into his pockets.  
  
  
  
“I'll pay you back,” he assured him, and darted past Bowie, and nearly broke his neck darting down the stairs. “Later!”  
  
  
  
“Hey!” TJ could hear Bowie gaining on him, so he ran faster. “Get back here!”  
  
  
  
Bowie raced after him, down the hall, through the kitchen (despite the very loud protests from their parents), out of the door, and down the driveway. TJ, sensing death was imminent the closer Bowie got, wasted no time in hopping on his bike, and speeding down the street. He heard Bowie yelling obscenities at him as he rode away, and he could have laughed.  
  
  
  
He'd pay Bowie back--he always did when desperate times called for desperate measures--but something about barely escaping trouble and the fall wind whistling in his ears made TJ want to swear that moments like these--moments like riding his bike on a cool autumn night circa 1984--could be considered a drug.  
  
  
  
+  
  
  
  
Cyrus could hardly contain that ‘meeting up with your friends’ jitter he got when his dad pulled up to the arcade. He squinted out of the window, and noticed TJ waving at him from the bike rack. His heart stuttered.  
  
  
  
His father was still talking. “And I'm gonna pick you up at nine o'clock _on the dot_ , you got it?”  
  
  
  
Cyrus was nearly crawling out of his skin. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”  
  
  
  
Ham nodded. “And if something happens, and you need to come home--”  
  
  
  
“Don't walk or bike, I know,” Cyrus impatiently replied. “Can I go, now?”  
  
  
  
Ham sighed, and nodded towards the building. “Go on.”  
  
  
  
Cyrus smiled and hopped out of the car.

 

Ham rolled down the window. “But remember to ask to use their phone and call home if there's any kind of emergency at all, and I'll be here at the speed of light!”  
  
  
  
Cyrus turned back, nodding hurriedly. “I will, I promise.”  
  
  
  
“And Cyrus--”  
  
  
  
The boy was about ready to have a fit. “Dad, I gotta go!”  
  
  
  
“Breathe,” Ham reminded him, half smiling. “Now, go have fun.”  
  
  
  
Cyrus remembered then that yeah, he probably should take a breath, and tried to shrug off that antsy energy. “Right. Bye!”  
  
  
  
+  
  
  
  
“He needs to use the sword!”

  
  
  
“No, the shield!”

 

“No, the _sword_ , dumbass!”

 

  
  
  
“That's bullshit, just run!”  
  
  
  
“Could you guys do me a favor and shut the hell up?!” Amber shouted, but even more arguing erupted around her.  
  
  
  
It had been over an hour since they'd met up at the arcade, and Amber was hoping she could finally dethrone Marty in Dragon's Lair, but at this rate, her head would explode from sheer stress before she even had the chance. Marty and TJ were arguing with Jonah about how Amber obviously needed to use the sword instead of her shield, while Cyrus interjected every few seconds, insisting Amber just run instead. In her haste, the blonde pressed the sword button, and an animation displayed her knight being unceremoniously burnt to a crisp.  
  
  
  
Amber's jaw dropped. “What?” Everyone groaned around her, and her face went red. “I spent all my goddamn money just to die at level goddamn seventeen?”

 

She kicked the machine, and Marty laughed. “Looks like Princess Daphne is still mine.”  
  
  
  
Amber gathered herself, and took a deep breath. “Yeah? Well, who cares about your lame princess, anyhow? I'm still tops on Dig Dug _and_ Space Invaders."  
  
  
  
“You might wanna that check again.”  
  
  
  
The group turned to see a girl standing only a few feet away. Kimberly Bryce was taller than most girls, had mousey brown hair, and a serious case of Cheeto fingers. She was in the same thing she wore basically every day--a baggy graphic t-shirt and dark green corduroys that Amber had always assumed she'd be buried in if she had the choice.  
  
  
  
Amber frowned. “Might wanna check what again?”  
  
  
  
The girl smiled wide, and popped another Cheeto puff into her mouth.  
  
  
  
Amber’s frown deepened. “No way.”  
  
  
  
Consumed with pure panic, she raced to the next aisle over. Amber gripped the sides of the _Dig Dug_ machine, and fought the urge to scream. She'd been knocked down to second place, because before her, someone by the name of SLAYER had scored--  
  
  
  
“Seven-hundred-and-fifty-one-thousand-three-hundred points!” Cyrus exclaimed breathlessly.  
  
  
  
“That's impossible!” Amber cried.  
  
  
  
“Apparently not for SLAYER,” the Cheeto-fingered girl replied, “who is clearly better than you.”  
  
  
  
Amber flipped her off.  
  
  
  
“Is it you?” Cyrus asked the brunette.  
  
  
  
The girl scoffed. “Please. You know how much I hate Dig Dug.”  
  
  
  
Jonah shrugged. “So who is it?”  
  
  
  
“Yeah!" Amber added. "Spill it, _Kimberly_.”  
  
  
  
Kimberly played coy. “You want something from me, I want something in exchange.”  
  
  
  
She eyed TJ, and everyone turned to look at him. TJ frowned, looking between Kimberly and his friends.  
  
  
  
“Oh, no.”  
  
  
  
Kimberly raised her eyebrows. TJ was adamantly shaking his head, now.  
  
  
  
“No!” he yelled. “There is no way in hell you're going out with him!”  
  
  
  
Marty threw an arm around TJ’s shoulders. “Come on, TJ, just get her one date with Bowie!”  
  
  
  
TJ jerked away, his mind more than made. “I'm not prostituting my brother!”  
  
  
  
“Yeah," Amber agreed, “she shouldn't get a date with him, because she'll just end up spreading that nasty-ass rash to your whole family.”  
  
  
  
Kimberly made a face. “Acne isn't a rash, you dweeb!”  
  
  
  
"Oh, _I'm_ the dweeb?"  
  
  
  
+  
  
  
  
The two of them bickered back and forth, and Cyrus, knowing this would be going on for a while, looked out of the windows towards the front of the building. Outside seemed empty--despite the arcade being packed that night, all the cars that had been parked out front were suddenly gone. Cyrus frowned, and walked towards the window for a closer look. Something resembling snow was blowing through the air.  
  
  
  
Cyrus took a small step away. “Hey, guys? Isn't it weird that--”  
  
  
  
The arcade suddenly went silent, and that silence was deafening. When he turned, none of his friends--or even Kimberly--was there. There was no one in fact. Cyrus was alone.

 

As if a switch had been flipped, the whole world turned into the Upside-Down.

 

Cyrus got that chill he always got when this happened. It always felt colder there, but this chill ran deeper than temperature.  
  
  
  
The front door swung open.  
  
  
  
Cyrus swallowed. He wondered if he should try and find that phone right about now.  
  
  
  
Cyrus let a shaky breath escape his lips, and gingerly walked outside. Beyond the ever-rotating ARCADE sign, there was red lightning. The thunder was deafening.

 

Cyrus saw something move behind those clouds, something that froze him up to the center, something that felt like all of the wrong things in the world. For some reason, to say he felt ‘paralyzed’ felt like a wild understatement.

 

Then it saw him. That thing, it… It knew him. It knew he was there, and what he was thinking. It saw inside of him.

 

And Cyrus felt all of it.  
  
  
  
“Cyrus!”  
  
  
  
Cyrus inhaled sharply, and whipped his head around to see TJ coming out of the door and into the Arcade parking lot, back in the right world. He’d almost thought to call it the ‘real’ world once, but Cyrus had already learned the hard way that the Upside Down was no sort of fantasy by any stretch of the imagination.  
  
  
  
TJ smiled, and Cyrus felt the warmth of that crooked smile melt the edges of that horribly cold feeling that had suddenly pierced him through.  
  
  
  
TJ took a tiny step forward, hands stuffed inside of his jacket pockets. “You okay?”  
  
  
  
Cyrus couldn't help but looked back into the sky, but the red clouds were gone. There were only stars, now--safe and normal stars that were billions of lightyears away, and could never ever hurt him, not even if they wanted to. Cyrus let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He seemed to be doing that a lot, lately.

TJ took another step forward, and gently touched Cyrus’ shoulder. “Hey.”  
  
  
  
Cyrus turned back to the taller boy, and TJ let his hand drop back to his side. Cyrus tried to focus on breathing easier. Of course, it was really hard to do that when TJ looked at him the way he did, but then, Cyrus would much rather had a hard time breathing because of TJ over his other options.  
  
  
  
TJ searched Cyrus’ eyes--not like he was some pitiful thing, which Cyrus always appreciated--trying to gauge the situation with as little words as possible. Cyrus appreciated that he never had to tell TJ to do that.  
  
  
  
“Did you wanna hang out here for a while?” TJ finally asked. “I can tell everyone if--”  
  
  
  
“No,” Cyrus replied a little too quickly. TJ raised his eyebrows, and paused. Cyrus took it down a notch, and tried again. “No. I just needed some air. I'm fine. Let's go back inside.”  
  
  
  
TJ smiled that careless smile of his, and threw an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders, leading him back into the building.  
  
  
  
“Cool. We're up on Dig Dug, anyhow. Let's show these geeks who's boss!”  
  
  
  
Cyrus tried for a laugh, and wished he could've meant it.


	2. ZOMBIE BOY

“Mack, we need to talk.”

 

Celia hadn't even stepped two feet out of her truck when she was suddenly seeing the face of the local conspiracy theorist, Mr. Metcalf. She sent a silent prayer out to the universe to remove this man from her presence before she was forced to taze him. Celia ignored his greeting and continued past him, and into the Police Department. He followed after her, buzzing in her ear like a fly that just wouldn't die no matter how many times you swat at it.

 

“Mack--”

 

“Get away from me,” Celia deadpanned.

 

“Listen, I only need five minutes--”

 

“Get away from me.”

 

“If I could have just a second to explain--”

 

 _“Get away from me,”_ Celia sang as she strode into the lobby, making a beeline for the coffee pot.

 

“I just want a minute of your time!”

 

Celia poured herself coffee into a paper cup (no cream, no sugar), and scoffed. “Yeah, and I want a date with Tony Spinelli. We all want things we can't have.”

 

Officer Marx looked up from her seat at the sound of the commotion, and her usual tired expression immediately morphed into an amused one. Metcalf was always good for a show.

 

“Mornin’, Chief!” Marx called. “How's goin’, Metcalf?”

 

“Any updates on your butt-probing aliens, yet, Metcalf?” Officer Santino chimed in, stifling laughter. Marx didn't hold back, though, and released an obnoxious snort, which sent Santino over the edge. The women laughed over one other, and high-fived.

 

Although she remained externally nonchalant, a part of Celia wished she could join them in their ignorance. After all that had happened over what had been nearly a year, Celia wanted a normal, boring life in a normal, boring town. As she knew now, though, the possibility of that happening would always be slim to none. She supposed it would only blow up in her face if she tried to fight it, but that didn't mean she had to tell the world about it, either.

 

She settled on rolling her eyes, grabbing a donut from the side table where the coffee maker and daily breakfast pastries were kept, and leaning against the wall.

 

Celia nodded at Metcalf. “Now don't you say a word about donut-eating cops. Trust me, there's nothing I haven't heard before.”

 

She took a bite, not minding how it was a little cold and had a little too much icing, and Metcalf shifted his feet, his urgency not allowing him to stand comfortably still.

 

He straightened up, and raised his chin a little, clearly attempting to appear professional. “Trust me, that is the least of my worries.”

 

“Right,” Santino interjected, “because his actual worries are alien invasions.” She wiggled her fingers in Marx's face, and Marx pushed Santino gently away, grinning like a fool.

 

Celia took a sip of her coffee as Metcalf rambled on. “We've been getting real reports of-of Chinese spies in the area--”

 

Celia couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled from her lips. Sometimes the man could really outdo himself. _“Chinese spies?”_

 

Metcalf pressed on. “I'm serious, I'm talking multiple, reports, alright? Multiple reports _and_ sightings of a Chinese child in Hawkins--”

 

Celia's brain short-circuited for a moment, and she paused. “A child? What do you mean, a child?”

 

Metcalf seemed to be breathing a little easier now that he was being listened to. “A girl, who has been said to possess psionic powers.”

 

Marx frowned. “Psionic?”

 

“Psychic,” Metcalf clarified.

 

“Hey Chief,” Santino piped up, “What about that girl that made that kid pee himself last year?”

 

Metcalf raised his eyebrows. “What girl?”

 

“That was a prank,” Celia said dismissively, trying to control the dizziness that had suddenly come over her.

 

Santino cocked her head to the side. “Wasn't a prank, that kid came in here, all--”

 

“Alright, everyone,” Celia interjected, “just take it easy for a second, alright?”

 

She trashed the donut, set down her coffee, and walked to her office. Metcalf followed, but before she went inside, she turned to him, and poked him hard in the chest.

 

“You got five minutes,” she hissed. “ _Five_. And I'm timing you.”

 

Metcalf nodded rapidly. “Five minutes is more than enough.”

  
  
  


“I talked to a Food Mart employee who said a little girl shattered the doors with her mind.”

 

Celia nodded, and leaned back in her rolling chair. “I heard about that. Did you hear the story about the fairy who visits kids with missing teeth and puts money under their pillows?”

 

Metcalf ignored the comment, and persisted. “A year ago, a co-worker of Dan Beck's claimed a Chinese girl was hiding out in his basement.”

 

Celia nodded slowly, twiddling a pen between her fingers. “A claim which Dan denied.”

 

“Yes, he may have denied it, but it all connects.”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“Maybe Jenna Mason met this girl, and tried to help her, but before she could, the Chinese found them, took them, and--”

 

Celia held a hand up. “Are you saying Chinese spies kidnapped Jenna Mason last year?”

 

Metcalf shrugged, and sat back. “Kidnapped. Killed.”

 

_“Killed?”_

 

“Don't you get it, Mack?”

 

Celia didn't hesitate to shake her head. “No.”

 

“This has potentially international implications. It's looking like a full-on Chinese invasion right here in Hawkins!”

 

Metcalf was red in the face now, and the two fell into silence.

 

Celia clicked her pen for an amount of time that irritated even herself, before finally asking, “Do you have any proof of this girl? Has anyone seen her recently?”

 

Metcalf's face twisted into a scowl. “No, but these are very important things to consider--!”

 

The phone rang, and Celia silently thanked whatever was Up There for an excuse to cut the man off.

 

The woman answered the phone at the speed of light. “Hello?”

 

“Dawson wants you to come to his farm and check out his pumpkins,” her secretary squawked. “Says they've been poisoned by his ‘vengeful neighbor, Petey.’ You're welcome.”

 

Celia bit back a smile, nodded, and hung up. She stood from her desk. “Gee, I hate to do this, but it looks like I'm needed at the moment. Thanks for stopping by.”

 

Metcalf didn't bother to mask his anger. “You said I had five minutes. It's been three.”

 

Celia shrugged. “Close enough, I think. Say, I liked your alien theory a lot better. It was more put together.” Celia grabbed her hat from her desk, and made for the door. “And Metcalf, just a piece of advice,” She turned to the livid man, who looked about ready to burst. “Stop looking for trouble where there is none, and go home.”

 

Metcalf stood, and adjusted his glasses. “I am _not_ looking for trouble--”

 

“Listen to me.” Celia stepped closer to the man, and despite her small stature, she filled the room. Metcalf swallowed, and sat back down. “Go _. Home,”_ Celia repeated. The man nodded silently. Celia grinned, and straightened her hat. She patted his shoulder, and walked out.

 

“Good to see ya, Metcalf. You can let yourself out.”

  


+

  


Bex squirmed in the passenger’s seat as Bowie went over her attempt at a college essay. She wasn't much of a fan of being vulnerable, or putting that much thought into her future, and with Bowie sitting there, quietly reading her essay with a furrowed brow, she felt like she could melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

 

Bowie suddenly cocked his head to his side as he read, and Bex winced. “It's pretty shitty, huh?”

 

Bowie looked up at her, and started to say something, but stopped. Bex raised her eyebrows.

 

Her boyfriend did this about two more times, before glancing back at the paper, and replying in the most unconvincing voice known to man, “It's not _bad_ , necessarily. Just… it needs a bit of… focus. Just needs some focus, is all. Mind if I add some notes?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Bowie whipped out a red pen, and began crossing here and underlining there, and though she knew it probably wasn't true, Bex felt like the dumbest person on Earth.

 

Bex nervously ran a hand through her hair. “Be honest: should I just start over, or…?”

 

“No, I mean, it's…” Bowie trailed off as he finally looked up at Bex's expectant face. Bowie bit his lip. “When's the deadline?”

 

“Tomorrow if I wanna apply early.” Bowie winced, so she added, “Can you come over tonight and help me out?”

 

The boy shook his head, and put the cap back on the pen. “We've got our dinner with the Masons tonight, remember?”

 

“But--”

 

“We've already had to cancel on ‘em, Bex. We gotta go this time.”

 

Bex nodded, and ran another hand through her hair. “Right. You're right.” Bex took the paper from him, and shoved it into her backpack. “Forget it. I couldn't get in, anyway.”

 

Bowie rubbed her shoulder. “Calm down.”

 

“I _am_ calm,” she insisted, this being one of the few times she'd said those words and actually meant them, “I'm just telling the truth. I'm probably just gonna end up working in my mom's diner.”

 

“Don't talk like that.”

 

“Why not?” Bex demanded tiredly. “I mean it, Bowie. Would it be so bad if I did? Would it be so bad if I just stayed here?”

 

And it really seemed like Bowie was going to respond with something important, but the distant sound of the thunderous revving of an engine snapped the two out of their conversation. They looked out of the window, exchanged a glance, and popped opened their doors.

 

The couple got out of the car, and followed the sound across the parking lot to see a ‘79 Camaro pulling in in what felt like slow motion. People were standing around, gaping at the fact that _that_ kind of car could now be found in the parking lot of a school in little old Hawkins, Indiana. The doors of the Camaro popped open, and from the passenger side emerged a girl with dark eyes, a bored face, and wild, curly hair. She was clutching a skateboard in her hands.The underside was covered in stickers and drawings, and she took a couple of steps forward, before tossing the board down and skating off without so much as a glance to the bunch of students that were now staring at her.

 

From the driver's side came a statuesque girl with long, red hair, and striking blue eyes. She seemed to move with a special kind of ease, and when Bex made eye contact with her, she felt a sort of chaotic energy that sent a chill down her spine.

 

Bowie shut the car door, and Bex jolted into action, grabbing her books, and making her way towards the school building.

  


+

 

Cyrus didn't like being called names--as no one did, he was sure--but he was used to it. When he'd opened his locker that morning, he hadn't consciously been aware that his picture with the words “ZOMBIE BOY” written over it would fall out, and it sucked, but it didn't surprise him.

 

The year following his disappearance, supposed death, and reappearance, brought him a lot of questions from strangers--and, when he couldn't sufficiently answer those questions, it brought more taunting. More snide comments, more funny stares, more whispering when he entered a room, more pitiful looks from what seemed to be everyone in the whole town.

 

It wasn't like he had to deal with it alone, though. Whenever kids said shitty things, Amber and Jonah would shoot something right back, or Marty would even trip someone here and there. TJ took it the hardest. Once, after TJ had seen a note someone had left in Cyrus’ locker, he immediately figured out who'd sent it, and interrupted class to tell James Campanelli and his goons that they were a ‘bunch of assholes.’ He got two days of detention, and after class, James had Campanelli bloodied his lip. Marty never him hear the end of it, but TJ didn't seem to have cared about staying after school for an hour, or the busted lip that he'd have to explain to his parents (if they were to notice).

 

All Cyrus could remember from that day was sitting on the curb with a ranting TJ Kippen, who for the life of him would not let the whole mess go.

 

“I hate jerks like them,” TJ had grumbled. “I hate them, and I hate that no one in this piece of shit town cares about anyone else. I hate that.”

 

Cyrus nudged his shoulder. “Not true.”

 

“Isn't it?”

 

The brown-eyed boy shrugged. “I care about you,” he said quietly. TJ sent him a smile that reached his eyes, and Cyrus coughed, because good Lord, nothing in the world could possibly have looked better than TJ when he smiled. Cyrus had stared at the trees ahead of him, and tried to steady his breathing. “And you care about me, and Jonah and Marty and Amber care about us, and we care about them, and so on.”

 

He could still feel TJ's gaze on him, and tried (and failed) to ignore the kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering around his stomach. He spared TJ a glance, and was right in assuming he was staring at him.

 

Cyrus squirmed, and touched his cheek. “Is there something on my face?”

 

TJ blinked, then shook his head. “No. Sorry, I totally spaced.” TJ stared up at the sky, and took a deep breath. “But you're right. We stick together no matter what. I've got you.”  

 

TJ had taken Cyrus’ hand, and squeezed it. Cyrus had smiled, and they'd sat there for another ten minutes before Cyrus’ dad came to pick them up.

 

The bell rung, startling him out of his reminiscing. Cyrus shut his locker, and sighed at the memory. Those words meant more now than they ever did, and Cyrus was trying immensely hard to remember them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm indecisive sorry everyone


End file.
